HI. I. CHAPTERED.
Does my review count say one hundred and three? Am I counting right? There are three numbers there... RIGHT?
It was awesome hitting my hundredth review with you guys! I never thought this story would get so popular, but I'm glad that it did! Actually, it's almost symbolic... the same person, Gaaralove4ever, who initially got me to turn my sorta oneshot into an actual story, reviewed my hundredth! YEAAAAH!
Ugh, posting is getting harder and harder. Things at my house are getting... well, complicated to say the least, because of dual enrollment grades and whatnot. But expect more UPDATES, because my dad is on a ten day vacation in another country, incommunicado! *dances happily*
Anyway.
OH YES, before I forget, I do not own Naruto. (I just realized I haven't disclaimed in a while.)
...
"Hmm."
The nurse shifted her hold, sliding her fingers into the crook of Fumiko's knee, and squeezed to feel the bones there. Fumiko just watched with equal parts curiosity and boredom. Well, she wasn't bored exactly, but she was going to go stir crazy if she had to sit in this hospital for one more day.
"Yes," the nurse said at last. "I believe you're due for another fitting."
"A new prosthetic?" Fumiko paused, putting a finger to her lips. "Hmm. There were pains while I was in Konoha, but I figured it was because I was walking too much."
"No," the nurse said, rising from her position kneeled in front of the bed. She avoided Gaara's careful gaze. "Those were growing pains. Your bones are growing again."
Fumiko's face screwed up. "Will I need another surgery?"
The nurse shook her head. "I don't think so. It would just be beneficial to fit you with a new prosthesis before you go. But, your ribs are almost healed, and you can probably take the sling off in another week or so."
"Okay. Thank you." Fumiko nodded, smiling. She was out of blank spaces on her recent prosthetic, anyway. Gaara leaned against the doorframe.
Gaara was usually a sedentary person, preferring to watch from corners or dark spaces, protecting, but never really participating unless specifically asked to. However, sedentary or not, he was used to walks across the sand, swinging, following as Fumiko darted from place to place. He was almost constantly moving, or at least changing scenery every now and again.
Even he was getting anxious from all of the sitting around.
Fumiko reattached her prosthetic and stood, nodding at the nurse with a smile, then stepping across the room to where Gaara was waiting. Temari had brought Fumiko one of her sets of clothes and her cloak a couple days prior, so she no longer wore the scratchy green nightgown. Gaara had changed as well, hurrying to rid himself of any sign of weakness.
Fumiko had to admit that it had looked a little strange to see him in his hospital bed, under the blankets and sleeping; pale, wearing the green hospital clothes, hooked to an IV. Usually, even when he wasn't being stoic, he wasn't so... vulnerable.
Gaara's bruises had all but faded, so that his skin was barely a shade darker where he'd been hit. If you didn't know what to look for, you wouldn't be able to see it. Fumiko herself was still limping from her rib injuries, and her arm was still in a sling, but she would be released today. You could say she was in a good mood.
"Ready, Gaara?" she asked. "I just need to make a fitting appointment, then we can go."
He nodded, made a little grunted affirmation noise that sounded kind of like Un. She laughed as they walked out into the hallway together, bumping his shoulder with hers.
…
"This weekend?" Fumiko grinned. "Sure, that's perfect. I'm supposed to come back anyway for a checkup. Thank you."
The attendant didn't respond.
Fumiko knew this woman. Ms. Tatsuno Kaiya worked with her mother, and had known Fumiko since she was a very small child. Fumiko, when she wasn't in the village school or playing with Gaara, had lived in this hospital, either for prosthetic work, or with her mother as she worked.
Not once had Kaiya ever said her name.
Her eyes were trained on her desk, staring at nothing, and she was practically shaking; with anger or fear Fumiko couldn't tell. Haltingly she reached out Fumiko's appointment receipt.
Beside her, Gaara looked away.
Fumiko sighed, a small wisp of a breath that expelled what felt like sadness. She had spent so much time in Konoha, in the hospital, amongst those that accepted her and Gaara to the point where they constantly asked after them, smiling, friendly; she had forgotten what it was like to be rejected.
"… Come on, Gaara. Let's go home now."
He nodded. As they walked, Fumiko could almost feel him trying to regain his cool aura, struggling to recall his place in this frozen desert atmosphere. She herself would flourish, she would adjust and become herself in mere seconds under the evil stares, but Gaara…
For the first time, Gaara…
Had been accepted by people other than herself.
To him… the sudden isolation was shocking all over again.
Fumiko looked up at the sky as they walked. Inquisitive lines of clouds dotted the sky, white; but so small and thin that they were merely lighter shades of blue in comparison to the snow-white, rolling, blooming clouds of Konoha.
Sandy air filled her lungs, dry, warm, just like she remembered it. Right away, sand crept into her sandal, the sun burned heat straight into her skin, the hot air swept her hair back in a flurry of brown curls. The sounds of a bustling street, vendors calling out goods and prices, scuffling feet and muttered thoughts filled her ears, familiar and welcoming.
A slight smile grew across her face.
She was home.
"Kami, I missed it here." She said, staring up at the blue, blue sky and then looking down; gaze sweeping across the shops and vendors lining the streets, still damp from the deluge of rain. People chattered and filtered through each other, carefully avoiding the pair as they walked.
"You did?"
"I… I shouldn't, but I did. The air, the sun… the people… it's so busy, not like Konoha." She smiled at him, a half-smile that suggested mischief, except that Fumiko wasn't mischievous. "Don't you feel it?"
Gaara's eyes lingered across the crowded streets, the tall yellow abode buildings. The sand seemed to welcome him home, slipping around his eyes and into his hair and under his palms, like an old friend.
"… yes. I guess I do."
Fumiko gasped. "Ohmysugar! I know where we need to go first!"
"Huh?" Gaara looked at her, puzzled. "Where?"
Her smile was blinding, stretching from ear to ear until it looked like her face would split in half. "The swing set!"
She took his wrist and then took off, running in her haphazard, jagged way, ignoring the pain in her ribs and the jolt in her arm, ignoring the stares and scowls. Gaara stumbled along behind her, but she could feel his growing smile.
…
It really had been too long since they had come here.
Gaara looked over the battered old swings. One side was plain, blank; it barely looked used at all. The other, however, looked exactly as anything of Fumiko's would- loud, there. It was painted with swirls of color and images that grew in maturity, as her skills had grown. There were deep grooves dug into the sand, signs of her dragging her feet and kicking up sand as she played.
The difference between them was orchestrated perfectly. Suddenly Gaara wanted to take a picture or something. Him, low, easily overlooked in favor of the creature beside him; her, bright enough to color them both.
Fumiko laughed with delight and made a beeline for her favorite place to sit. They were really getting too big for these swings. But Gaara supposed he didn't much care about size when she smiled at him, waving, shouting, kicking the ground to get her swing started.
Gaara himself didn't really swing. He sat on his swing and rocked gently back and forth, back and forth, using his feet to keep a steady, gentle monochrome. It wasn't long until Fumiko was soaring above his head, tucking her legs under the seat so her feet didn't stop her flight.
Like a bird.
Gaara smiled, just a little.
He really had missed this place.
"Gaara, Gaara," she sang, voice whooshing as she zipped past. "I'm so glad to be out of that hospital!"
"Me too."
Surrounded by sand he felt much better. Sand was his home, after all. He had felt exposed without his gourd, but the nurses, most likely out of fear, had not allowed Kankuro to bring or keep the gourd at the hospital for him. He had been totally defenseless, but Fumiko was right- there was no one out to get him, any more.
Fumiko stuck out her prosthetic as she came swinging down, digging further into a groove and causing sand to whirl up in a small storm.
Gaara made it dance, twirling his hand in small circles. She laughed as it blew into her hair. Gaara was careful not to let it in her eyes.
"Pfft! That tickles!"
"Hey, look. The freaks are back."
Gaara's rocking halted. Fumiko's stop was not as subtle: it took her a second to realize what was going on, and then she dragged her foot and prosthetic through the sand until she eventually slowed, skidding noisily to a standstill. The swirling cloud of sand dropped.
"Hello," Fumiko greeted.
Gaara knew all three of them. After all, they had been in the same academy class.
"We thought you'd died or something at the Chuunin exams, sand-freak," one of them scoffed. "I can't believe they let you in the hospital."
Gaara's expression was neutral, eyes cooling instantly.
The children here had grown bolder and bolder once they realized that Fumiko ordinarily stopped him from killing people. Still careful, but aggressive and smug.
"That's not very nice." Fumiko muttered.
"What happened to your arm, lead foot?" another asked.
Fumiko's expression grew guarded, a new expression Gaara usually only saw when someone asked about how she lost her leg. She wouldn't tell them it was Gaara's fault because she was always adamant in the view that it wasn't.
"What's the point in telling them something like that?" she told him flippantly with a shrug. "It's not your fault, not my story to tell, and not any of their business. They would just make a bigger deal out of it than it is."
"It fractured." She said truthfully.
"Who fractured it?" the boy jeered. "Or did you just trip and fall?"
Fumiko gave a lopsided smile. "Sure."
The trio seemed momentarily confused by her answer, glancing at each other as if to ask, did we hear that right? But soon enough their grins returned. It wasn't really her they were trying to aggravate anyway.
The fact that they were acting like this was absurd. There was still black draped across the village in mourning for the lost Kazekage- even they wore all-black clothes. Fumiko and himself had actually missed the funeral, stuck like they had been in a stuffy hospital room. Not that Gaara would have gone anyway, and if he hadn't, Fumiko wouldn't. But still... Suna seemed so… disloyal.
"And you are?" Gaara said coolly, although he knew exactly who they were.
The boy at the head of the group fumed. "You know who we are, monster!"
Gaara felt bold. Perhaps he had learned a thing or two from Naruto. "If by now the only word you know how to say is 'monster' then perhaps you should go back to the Academy."
Fumiko hid a smile behind her hand. The boy opened his mouth, closed it, and then scowled viciously.
"At least my dad is still around to teach me new words, psycho."
Gaara's eyes narrowed.
"Excuse me," Fumiko said. "But that's uncalled for. You're still wearing black to honor the fourth kazekage, for sugar's sake, not make him the butt of your mean jokes."
The boy scoffed, although by now the other two looked uneasy. "Hey… Toushi…" one tried.
"Shut up!"
"Ne, Gaara. Maybe we should go somewhere else now."
They were blocking their way, not that it mattered. As gracefully as one could get off a swing too small for them, Gaara stood. Fumiko followed suit, although she immediately stumbled through a small pile of sand. Gaara had to catch her, with his arms this time and not his sand.
This caused the boys to burst into raucous laughter. Gaara shot them a death glare, but they were a little overconfident this time.
"Watch your step, lead foot!"
"Careful, wouldn't want to break your other foot!"
"You'd think by now a cripple would learn how to walk."
"Ignore them, Gaara." Fumiko said, loud enough for them to hear. Then she smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. "They aren't worth it."
This served to irritate them further. When Gaara shrugged, set her on her feet, and walked with her past them, it only got worse.
"Hey! We're still talking to you!"
Gaara, following Fumiko's lead, said absolutely nothing, opting instead to walk on toward the mouth of the large alley as if they hadn't said anything at all.
"Toushi, wait-" one of his friends yelped, but Gaara had already seen Toushi's move as they walked past. He'd been leaning toward the ground. Gaara didn't even look back.
"If you throw that rock, I'll crush your hand."
They said nothing after that, stunned into silence. When they were about to turn out of sight, Fumiko called, "Bye!"
…
"They were being pushy today, huh?" Fumiko mused, dropping another pile of sand on her sand sculpture.
Fumiko preferred to make sand castles and statues nearer to the main water source of Suna. The very center of the village was built around a small oasis, no longer green; but it still had a large pool of crystal-clear water that Fumiko knew ran miles deep. Around here, the sand was damp, and allowed for better sculpting material.
Gaara, on the other hand, liked being where the sand was dry enough to control.
So usually, they hung out at the exact spot where the water from the lake didn't seep into the sand any further- a dark little line between the wet sand and the dry sand. So the two of them sat, uncaring, really, of their clothes.
Fumiko hummed some song or another that she had heard being played on the way there, squishing the clay-like substance into a shape- she wasn't sure what she was even making, really, but it would turn out to be something. It always did.
Gaara was lazily flicking his fingers around, his other hand braced against the ground. His lips were pursed slightly in half-hearted concentration as the sand whirled into a castle that became more and more intricate as the seconds went by, even picking up small decorations like rocks and bits of cloth as it went.
He looked more relaxed then he had in a long time.
Fumiko added a line of tumbleweed bits to her growing Kazekage Tower, forming a Land of Wind symbol.
"Gaara, this is a long shot, but could you maybe find little people-dolls?"
The sand just in front of her knees churned, and three wooden voodoo-like dolls the size of her pinkie finger unearthed. She gaped at them for a minute, then looked over at Gaara. He was looking at his castle, but there was a slight smirk on his face.
"I was wondering when you'd ask. They were buried there the entire time, about a half mile down. Probably someone lost them in a sandstorm."
…
When they finally made their way back to Fumiko's house, it was already well past dark. The stars were out, and the moon illuminated their path, casting a silver shadow across the wide, sandy streets.
In the desert, when the sun went down, temperatures went to below freezing, so it was in their best interest to get inside soon before the sand cooled. Still, Fumiko goofed the entire time, clowning and jumping and laughing.
Being outside after that stuffy hospital room had worked wonders on both of them.
The two of them clambered up to the doorway as Fumiko chattered about trying out a new art style she'd thought of during the storm- blurring, she called it. Gaara had just raised his hand to grab the doorknob when it swung open.
A very sour-looking Yoshiki standing in the doorway. For a split second, Gaara was reminded of Fumiko's father, and that did not make him happy. Either way he blinked in surprise, lowering his hand to his side once more.
"… hello, Yoshiki." Gaara said.
"Yeah, hi." Yoshiki said peevishly. "Woulda liked to greet you earlier, when you actually got out of the hospital."
"Oh, sorry, Yoshiki." Fumiko said. "We were just out revisiting the village. It's been a while since we could hang out here, you know?"
"… yeah. Whatever." He stepped out of the way. "Your mom said she wanted to see you when you got back. She's in the kitchen. I'll entertain Gaara, or something."
"Okay!" she said, smiled at Gaara, and hobbled to the kitchen area of the apartment. Gaara stepped in after her, and Yoshiki closed the door behind him.
Gaara wanted to smile. The place hadn't changed at all in the month they'd been gone- if anything, it was warmer, since Mr. Mitsuwa's ever-looming presence was nowhere to be found. But Yoshiki was beside him, and well, they didn't seem to be on the best of terms. Gaara could sense his annoyingly, perpetually aggravated attitude.
Awkwardly, they both stood there beside each other. Yoshiki didn't look at him, and Gaara just watched the kitchen door for any sign of rescue. None came. Gaara wondered what they were doing for a moment, before he felt eyes boring into the back of his head.
He sighed. Him and Yoshiki didn't have the best relationship. Yoshiki didn't really like Gaara because… well… he knew it had something to do with Fumiko, but Gaara couldn't really figure it out. Gaara himself didn't particularly dislike Yoshiki, however…
"Hey. What were you guys doing, anyway?"
… he didn't particularly like him, either.
"Swings. Sand castles. Some window-shopping at the vendors' street." Gaara answered shortly, crossing his arms. He never really bothered to try and be social with him, and today wasn't any different.
"Oh, really?"
"Yes. Really."
Yoshiki sulked, muttering to himself under his breath. Someday, Gaara would figure out why Yoshiki seemed to hate his guts. But for now, he would settle for ignoring Yoshiki's not-so-quiet personal monologue.
…
"Mom! You bought tongue and gizzard? But you hate that recipe!"
"Well, I didn't just get beat up by Naruto, now did I?" Fumiko's mother smiled.
During their long hospital visit, Gaara and Fumiko had eventually agreed to tell her family bits and pieces of the story. Mai at first had laughed at them for getting creamed, then sobered when Fumiko quietly told her- with Gaara's permission- how exactly she had ended up in such a bad condition.
Fumiko hugged her mother tightly. "Thank you! Oh, this is perfect! His favorite food!"
Her mother laughed. "Ssh, not so loud; Gaara will hear you."
Fumiko wasn't exactly sure how in the world Gaara had discovered salted tongue and gizzards as a candidate for his favorite food, but somewhere along the line, he had. It wasn't often she made it- after all she rarely made anything that didn't have sugar somewhere in the ingredients list- but she knew how.
She pulled away, heading directly for the counter. Her mother had already cut and somewhat prepared the meats, but had never actually learned how to make it.
Fumiko pulled the salt and pepper from the cupboards above her, coating the gizzards, humming under her breath as she transferred them to a pot.
"Hey, mom," she said absently as she measured out olive oil into the high-sided, heavy-bottomed black pot that they owned specifically for this purpose along with the meat. "Would you go check on Gaara? This'll take awhile, and I think Yoshiki makes Gaara uncomfortable."
"Sure, sweetie."
The sound of the door opening and closing alerted her to her mother's absence. The tiny kitchen filled with the sounds of popping oil as the pot heated up. She opened a small can of chicken broth and added that as well, along with fresh-smelling herbs from the fridge.
"Um… wine, or vinegar?" she mused to herself. Well, it would already be salted, so a sweet wine would probably be better. She rummaged through the pantry for a minute before closing her fingers around a bottle she was surprised they had.
After covering the pot and leaving it to simmer, she set a timer for two hours, and then pulled a glass marination pan from a bottom cupboard.
Searching through the fridge and the pantry, Fumiko realized that her mother had really gone all out. There was the cloves, the cinnamon, the bay leaf, and the white wine vinegar, expensive things they didn't usually buy.
Fumiko took the soaking cow's tongue out of the pot. She grimaced slightly as she held it- cow's tongue felt really really weird- and put it on the cutting board for just long enough to put fresh water in the pot.
Her mother must have been soaking it for days before they were released from the hospital. She must have been really worried to do this for Gaara.
She plopped the tongue back in and set to work chopping vegetables. As she chopped, her mind wandered to the absolute silence outside the kitchen. This was good, because it meant that Gaara and Yoshiki weren't fighting, but she had to wonder…
…
Gaara could hear pots clanging around in the kitchen- Fumiko was almost never subtle unless she was trying to be quiet, which she obviously wasn't. He was unbearably curious, but Fumiko's mother was proving to be very distracting.
"And this was Gaara and Fumiko when they were really little. Fumiko fell asleep on him! See, there's his little bear-"
"Mrs. Mitsuwa!" Gaara protested, trying to snatch the photo book out of her hands. He hadn't even been aware that she had one.
Yoshiki just looked confused, inching away, but at the same time, discreetly sneaking peeks. Mrs. Mitsuwa kept it just out of his reach, and he was unwilling to use sand on any of the Mitsuwas unless it was to protect or aid.
A half hour later, Gaara could feel a migraine growing behind his eyes. Mrs. Mitsuwa was still on it, but Gaara was so tired of jumping up and down- he absolutely loathed being short- reaching for something that he obviously wasn't going to get.
Now he was sitting on the futon. The clanging sounds, he realized, had faded. Now it was almost completely quiet save for the occasional rustling. Now Gaara was getting suspicious- what in the world was Fumiko doing, anyway?
Fumiko stepped out of the kitchen almost an hour later, face dusted with cinnamon and pepper, smiling widely. As soon as the door slid open, Gaara froze.
That smell… Gaara knew that smell.
"You didn't!" Gaara blurted in an uncharacteristic bout of normalcy, turning to stare with wide eyes at his friend. She tilted her head, smiled at him, apron stained with broth and vegetable juice, smelling like tongue and gizzard.
Which, despite how odd it sounded, was a compliment.
…
"I can't believe you even remember how to make this, Fumiko," Gaara said between bites of salted tongue. "It's been, what, three years?"
"Ah ah ah, Gaara, you know I never forget a recipe," Fumiko laughed.
She was piling enough sugar on her food to give a rabbit cardiac arrest, but Gaara was amazed she was eating it at all- it was probably one of her least favorite dishes.
"This food is weird," Mai commented, poking at a gizzard with her fork. "Why's it look so weird?"
"Stop playing with your food, Mai," her mother said, although there was no real displeasure in her voice. She, too, seemed uncertain of her plate, staring at it.
"But it's odd. Why would you eat a cow's tongue?"
Gaara knew how to fix the problem. A really cheap trick, but one she had fallen for multiple times during their training together.
"Hey, Mai," he rumbled.
"What?"
"I bet you can't eat more gizzard than me."
…
Fumiko swept her hand across the canvas, spreading a cloud of black across jagged lines. It looked vaguely familiar, but Gaara couldn't quite place it. Her mouth was open slightly, concentrating.
Gaara himself was stretched out on her bed. Fumiko's mother had eventually gotten over the 'sleep on separate beds' thing- mostly because they always stayed on the same bed despite the rules and anyway, Gaara never really slept. The comforter was a warm, soft, worn out multicolored quilt made by Fumiko's great-great-somebody. The dark stain on the corner of it reminded him of early stayovers.
Her room was just as decorated if not more so than his room. Her walls were crammed with framed pictures and paintings and pencil drawings, and there were more stacked in her closet and in a box at the foot of her bed. A coat rack made from random bits of scrap wood stood precariously by her door, holding Fumiko's cloak. There was one dresser with a mirror, on which a photo of the two of them at his Academy graduation stood.
Gaara felt wired. His chakra was completely replenished, and almost two weeks of straight, undisturbed sleep had left him with energy to spare. He had no doubt that Fumiko felt the same way, given the way she practically skipped rather than walking, and the twitch in her fingers as she worked.
"See?" Fumiko stepped back to get a better look at what she had sketched out. Her hands were blackened with charcoal. "The blurring is strange, but it makes it look… softer somehow."
"What is it?"
"The woods in Konoha. What it would look like… without us fighting in it." Fumiko stopped abruptly, then her mouth dropped open. "Holy sweeting sugar! I totally forgot! Their forest was partially destroyed! Oh, jeez, I have more letters to write!"
Fumiko sputtered around the room for a moment looking for paper, peeking under the bed, in her dresser, and in her closet before realizing that Asuka hadn't yet returned from sending her letter to Lee. Then she shrugged and went back to her canvas.
A few quiet moments passed. Gaara closed his eyes, just listening to the sound of charcoal scratching across paper.
"Hey Gaara. Do you want to try?"
...
"Oh, yeah." Fumiko said with a wide smile. "Yeah, that feels way better. I didn't even realize the other one was getting too small!"
She rotated her knee, testing the strength of her newly replenished chakra sock and the weight of her new prosthetic. It was virtually the same as her previous one, but she preferred this design, so it was recreated in a larger size. Gaara had to wonder what she would try to draw on it first.
Fumiko stood. The doctor, although Gaara had known him since he was seven, and had always come to him for Fumiko's prosthetic help, was trying to keep Fumiko between them. Like he thought Gaara was going to just go nuts and attack him. Gaara, having been adjusting to this behavior for the past week, more or less felt the same about it as he had when he'd first left: confused by it, annoyed by it, but otherwise indifferent.
Gaara nodded at him, attempting to acknowledge his help, but it only made the poor man flinch. Most likely he thought Gaara was controlling the sand from the gourd he now wore on his back again. Those loathing eyes... terrified and yet, angry.
Fumiko trotted over. She was uncaring of these looks- she recognized them but discarded them. Easily, like she was brushing sand off her shoulder. He wanted to be able to do that. No... he wanted to not have to be able to do that.
Gaara held out his arm slightly- Fumiko usually had a little bit of trouble the day or two after she was fitted with a new prosthetic. Until she got used to it, ordinarily, she would use Gaara almost like a crutch. Smiling, she took his arm, and they stepped out of the room,. Gaara closed it behind him.
He pretended not to hear the relieved sigh as he did so.
...
"Why do all of the sandals look the same?" Fumiko pouted. "Different straps maybe, but they're all the same!"
"The shinobi here are all very stoic and simple." Gaara cocked his head slightly. "If it blends into the desert, they'll take it."
"I don't wanna blend into the desert." she sighed. "Oh well. A bigger size of the same shoe it is."
Fumiko, under the excuse that if her prosthetic was getting too big, then her sandal was, too; had decided to shop for more interesting ones. But unless she wanted to wear the high-strapping black fashion-sandals they had seen in the women's section, then she was stuck with shinobi sandals: plain, a little high, and the same color as the sand they walked on.
It was always interesting when Fumiko shopped for a sandal. Key word being, a sandal.
Fumiko picked up the pair of sandals from the low shelf and then straightened, bracing herself on Gaara's shoulder as they made their way back to the front of the little clothes-shop. Although the Mitsuwa family often couldn't afford much, Gaara always made certain that she could buy things like new sandals without having to worry about expenses.
Stepping up to the counter, Gaara could feel the cashier tense.
"Hello, welcome," she said in a rehearsed tone. "How may I help you?"
"Well, I'd say that I'm here to buy a sandal, only most stores require I get both of them." Fumiko laughed. "So I guess I'm buying these sandals, please."
...
...
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Also, I put some visual references for both Fumiko and her prosthetic on my profile.